Watch Me Series
by Vashti
Summary: Oz is more than Princess Azkadellia's jailor, more than her friend and her confidante...he's her bandmate.
1. Watch Me (As I Come Undone)

**Title:** Watch Me (As I Come Undone)  
 **Author:** Vashti  
 **Fandom:** Tin Man  
 **Character(s):** Oz, Azkadellia  
 **Rating:** K+/PG  
 **Summary:** Someday they'll be a two-man band, right now it's enough to watch the Princess shed her skin.  
 **Length:** ~680 words  
 **Disclaimer:** Only the words are mine, and that's probably up for philosophical debate.  
 **Notes:** Written for the August 2014 Twisted Shorts Ficathon.

Standing a respectful distance away, Oz watched as Princess Azkadellia spread her arms wide and let the stiff breeze blowing off the lake pull at skirt, her skin, her hair. When they had first come to the Summer Palace that was to be her home – and prison – she had worn layers upon layers of clothing, enough to make an Other Side woman from a fabric-happy religious order feel suffocated. That had been over a year ago. Now she refused sleeves and crinolines and perhaps other under-things he didn't know much about (no sisters...dated girls who wore pants...he only knew about crinolines because the princess had thrown a set at his head (he thought "crinkoliner" would have been a better name)). Someday the Princess would leave her Summer Prison, go into town with her hair fashionably short, wearing the trousers her sister was making popular, and none would be the wiser.

They were going to start a band. She'd sing lead vocals. Oz had told her about it once, when a thunderstorm had left her shaking, drowning in mounds of soft, foldable armor that was no match for water, light and sound. The band had become their Thing ever since. The Princess embellished it, weaving a reality of imaginative words around the core that Oz had created. They couldn't decide on a name, but they had a dozen song titles under their belt already. They didn't get around to singing much, although Oz played for the Princess often. It soothed her, calming her night terrors and chasing off her portion of the day-mares.

Someday her sentence would be lifted. Someday she would have her own guitar strapped across her back as she wheeled an amp to and from their latest gig. They were a two man band so that meant they had to be their own roadies.

"I am almost certain such a word doesn't exist in all the OZ," she'd said the first time Oz shared his post-release stories with her.

"Oh, I'm sure it does."

"Would you like to place a wager?"

Oz had shrugged. "I guess we could do that."

They'd played with his cash. The Princess wasn't allowed any. And Oz had never cared about money in that way. He kept everything in trust. It was going to be a while before anyone remembered to bring them news of the outside, let alone be allowed to wander the streets of the next nearest town. Just the two of them and the queen's magic roaming incognito, hurting no one and healing their souls. The mind, will and emotions were, after all, a terrible thing to have laid waste.

Sometimes Oz wondered why he'd volunteered for Princess-sitting duty. He knew why he'd joined the Royal Service, more or less; there was something about strong female leadership that had always spoken to him. He wasn't sure why he'd taken on Princess Azkadellia as a project.

Maybe because, under the mask of competent acceptance, he'd seen the same fear and loss he remembered from his last days in Sunnydale, when he hadn't even understood the monster he'd become. There were no Tibetan monasteries in the OZ. As far as Oz knew, there were no monasteries at all. It felt right to help her, to share what he'd been taught – especially when it was clear that no one else wanted the job.

A week after Oz witnessed Princess Azkadellia's love affair with wind, he was only a little surprised to see that she'd cut her hair into a pageboy that barely brushed her jawline. (He was more surprised by how neat it was, in all honesty.) Eyes glittering with an excitement that mostly hid her fear, she approached him. "What do you think?"

"It's very different for you. Short."

She couldn't help running a hand through her hair. "It's never been this short."

"Hmm." Oz nodded, momentarily studying her in silence. "How do you feel about it?" He almost asked her what she _thought_ about it, but thinking had never been the Princess' problem.

A wide, honest smile spread across her face. "I feel lighter."

[Fin]ite


	2. Watch Me (While I Come Alive)

**Title:** Watch Me (While I Come Alive)  
 **Author:** Vashti  
 **Character(s):** Oz, Azkadellia, Ahamo  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** "I can feel my heart beating with within; finally I'm breathing again." - Avalon  
 **Length:** ~990 words  
 **Notes:** Written for the 2015 Twisted Shorts Ficathon.

* * *

Azkadellia is sitting on the floor of the place they've turned into their studio. It was one of the long term projects Oz had suggested early into the princess' imprisonment, although it had taken several visits from her father and his desire to reconnect with the beloved child he had lost to sorcery and politics to get it off the ground. They'd done it nearly all by hand, the three of them (though DG had tightened and smoothed some things to improve acoustics at Oz's prompting). It had given Azkadellia something to look forward to every day.

It had also helped humanize her to the people. Between Oz and the Consort, they only knew so much about construction. Azkadellia knew nothing at all about laboring with her hands. But they had all been willing to learn, and Ahamo had the ability to find them skilled tradespeople to teach them.

Even Oz had been surprised by the intensity of the princess' focus and desire to learn. She listened intently to given instructions, asked intelligent and thoughtful questions, and never tried to make it seem that she knew better than the their teacher for the day after only a few hours of instruction. Even their most reluctant teachers couldn't deny that she was an excellent student. It wasn't uncommon for many of them to forget that she was a princess of the realm altogether. (It helped that she had thrown off the physical trappings of her station long before, cutting her hair into a short style that hovered around the curve of her skull and followed the line of her jaw. She looked very little like the princess Oz had met after he'd joined the Royal Guard.)

More than once, Oz caught the Consort watching his daughter from afar during his visits to her Summer Palace/Prison. "There's my Az." Whether she ever heard him or not, Oz didn't know.

What he did know was that the princess seemed lighter on those days when her father was around to watch her absorb skills like a sponge. Her face glowed from more than just sweat as she showed him the progress she was making, first at building her skills, then later at applying them, and finally at the progress being made to the studio itself during the Consort's absence.

On those days when her father was there, she slept as well or better than when Oz pulled out his guitar and played her nightmares away. During one fateful evening with her father in temporary residence, Ahamo asked to borrow Oz's guitar after their dinner. He then began to play a tune Oz didn't know.

"Hmm, I guess I learned it on this side," Ahamo had said. "I've been here so long that it's hard to remember where or when I picked up some of the old stuff." Glancing up at Oz for a moment, lips quirked, he said, "I wasn't much older than you are when the travel storm caught me."

Though she'd been standing by the floor to ceiling windows, and he and Ahamo were some feet away on a rug by the dead fireplace, Oz had sensed Azkadellia's new interest in the conversation.

"I'm twenty-seven."

"All right," Ahamo had said, chuckling, "All right, so I was somewhat younger." He hadn't raised his head again though Oz felt Azkadellia's interest more strongly.

"How old were you, You Highness?"

The Consort had still been trying to hum the song, having stopped and started over again several times. Looking up, he'd let his fingers wander off somewhere else as he said, "About twenty-two years old, if I remember right. But I wasn't always so good at keeping up with the proper date at that time of my life."  
Understanding, Oz had grunted, the nod of his head turning into a gentle full body rocking motion as Ahamo returned to the song he was trying to remember.

"Do you remember this one, Az?" Ahamo had said, raising his head. "I seem to remember playing it for you when you were little."

She'd been wandering closer as Oz and the Consort spoke. Oz had been tracking the whisper of her bare feet and pale skin moving against cool stone and lightweight skirts. "I think so."

Approaching them in earnest, she had sat herself in a bright aqua blue wingback and pulled up her feet.

"Then maybe you know the rest…" the Consort had said. And he'd segued smoothly into the beginning again, humming as he went. Az's voice had flitted over his after a moment, as if scared to touch it, even as she pushed the song further along than her father had been able to.

Ahamo had dropped out long enough to say, "You've got it. You don't remember the words do you?" And he'd moved back to the beginning again without waiting for an answer.

This time hesitant words had overlaid themselves on her father's more confident humming, until Ahamo joined in the actual singing. And they'd kept going.

Oz had sat at their feet—faithful friend, retainer, coconspirator, and bodyguard—entranced by the light mirrored on their faces. He'd seen it before. DG looked at her sister that way and often. The Queen had as well. He'd never, however, seen it reflected back on Azkadellia's face, hiding in plain sight as she did.

She'd spent the next day writing. And every day after, when they weren't working on the studio.

In Oz's hand he holds an invitation. An invitation to leave the palace for her sister's royal coronation in Central City. Her first invitation to leave their Summer Prison/Palace in more than eight years. They (she) hadn't even been allowed to leave for the Queen's funeral. (Instead it had begun there with a small private service for the family, in the palace that held their best and worst memories, then slowly processed through the OZ from there.)

Azkadellia's exile was over.

It was time to pick a name for the band.

Fin[ite]


	3. Watch Me (Work it Out)

**Title:** Watch Me (Work it Out)  
 **Author:** Vashti  
 **Character(s):** Oz, Azkadellia, Ahamo  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** It almost felt like their early days in exile at Fin Aqua, but with none of the anxiousness that sent her fingers clutching at something to hide their shaking.  
 **Length:** ~750 words  
 **Notes:** Written for the 2016 Twisted Shorts Ficathon.

* * *

Oz watched the seated Princess from a safe distance away. As her magic had returned, her spacial awareness had grown considerably. Although she knew his presence as well as her own, Oz knew that his sudden intrusion into her sphere of her awareness would startle her out of whatever she was seeing beyond the horizon.

The second of the OZ's two suns would soon be setting, but the overcast sky had brought a soft gray twilight early. It had been a soft, murky sort of day all day, prompting people everywhere to dig out long sleeved shirts and shawls all around town. Similarly, the Princess had been vague and unfocused most of the day. It had almost felt like their early days in exile at Fin Aqua, but with none of the anxiousness that had sent her fingers fluttering and clutching at something to hide their shaking.

Whatever preyed on Princess Azkadellia's mind today, it had pulled her far far away. That morning, when he'd gone to her room and found her half-dressed and staring at her mostly unkempt and still sleep-wild reflection, Oz had almost gone back to his room for his guitar. Music had long since been an anchor for her heart. Then she'd met his eyes through the glass. "How much time do we have before soundcheck?"

It had been 11am. "Depending on how much makeup you're willing to sit through, five hours."

"I'll do my own makeup."

Oz had quickly redone the math. "Okay, seven hours then."

Nodding slowly, Azkadellia had slowly reached for the hairbrush to bring her recently cut hair under control. She'd been wearing it short for almost a decade, since the second year of her exile. "Is there anything to see here?"

"If there's not, I'm sure we can find something. We make our own fun after all."

She'd smiled faintly at that, not at him, but he hadn't been looking for personal acknowledgment.

Soundcheck was still at least an hour ahead of them. Plenty of time for a wayward princess to be lost in thought. They still had to trek across town, however, having decided to explore on foot.

Oz stepped forward, knowing that she'd sense him within a couple of steps. He approached her with slow, easy confidence. She knew it was him. She knew he was safe. She knew he didn't want more from her than she could give (even if she sometimes didn't know she had it in her to share).

Stopping beside her, Oz reached down to hand her the large ceramic cup filled with coffee. Of the many Other Side innovations Queen DG had implemented, take out coffee hadn't quite made it over. Disposable culture wasn't something the OZ really believed in. Shops were willing to fill up a customer-brought cup for a slight discount. Especially, or even, for disgraced royalty. Although they tended to use the cups interchangeably, Oz's had the phases on the moon carved into one side. Azkediallia had the outline of her once-signature curls.

Most of her hair was gone now. She'd wanted to cut it short...shorter, in preparation for their tour but, with the Consort's help, Oz had convinced her to leave it long enough to hide behind. Just a little. Until she was comfortable.

Most days she wore it all pulled up and back, exposing her face to the world.

"Thank you," she said softly, taking the cup.

Oz let his hand rest on her shoulder. She pushed into it for a moment, almost as if testing to see if he was as strong as he had promised he was all those years ago. Or maybe just acknowledging that he was there. She had changed so much, his Princess Az. He wondered if she was changing again.

"Is it time to go?" she asked.

"Not yet."

Her hair was in her face today, and when she nodded the longer front threatened to slip into the open cup.

"We've never been this close to Central City before," he said. It was their third tour. "You okay?"

"I don't know."

Oz found himself nodding. His van was probably still in the stables. Any chance he had of going home again was probably wandering the halls within the Central Palace's walls.

Careful of the hot coffee in his hands, he dropped into a squat, and then onto the ground to sit next to the princess. He could feel her warmth through the jacket she wore. "Yeah."

They leaned into each other.

[Fin]


	4. Watch Me (Take Control)

**Title:** Watch Me (Take Control)  
 **Author:** Vashti  
 **Character(s):** Oz, Azkadellia, Ahamo, fangirls  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** "Surprise you to find that I'm laughing? While you were busy destroying my life what was half in me has become whole." Poe  
 **Length:** ~1,800 words  
 **Notes:** Written for the 2017 Twisted Shorts Ficathon. Lyrics/Poems are original.

* * *

Ahamo and Oz were sitting in a cafe, waiting for Azkadellia to come down from the little apartment they'd rented for two weeks instead of trying to find decent, cheap accommodations in every tiny town they were playing in the area. He, Ahamo, had come from Central City to celebrate his elder daughter's tenacity and success. (DG would come, but it was hard to get away from royal duties.)

Ahamo pulled the newspaper out of his waistcoat moments after their coffee was delivered. "Look at this," he'd said. When it was clear that Oz had finished his cup, Ahamo said, "We can't let her see this."

They'd been on the road a year before the OZ's press had noticed.

Oz shook his head. "We promised each other no secrets in the band. She has a right to see this."

Splashed across the front of the OZ's arts and entertainment section was a picture of them onstage with the words POOR PRINCESS emblazed across Az's body. Her face was twisted with emotion, her head low, eyes closed, and the mic pulled intimately close in one hand, as the clenched fist of the other pressed against her chest. The worm's eye-view photo nearly lost Oz entirely. What could be seen of his face watched Azkadellia intently.

Oz thought he knew which song she'd been singing when that shot was taken. If he was right, Azkadellia's eyes opened blazing fire as the song went into the next movement.

Nodding to himself, Oz read the actual article. He was vaguely aware of Ahamo drinking his coffee and eating on the other side of the paper, but the Prince Consort let him read uninterrupted.

When he was done, Oz set the paper down between them. "She has a right to know what people are saying about her. She has a right not to be taken by surprise at a concert, or backstage after one."

"What's happening backstage?" Az asked as she sat between her father and guard-turned-bandmate.

"Az, sweetheart, it's nothing worth-" Ahamo started, but Oz cut him off by flipping the paper so that the photo was face up and pushing it towards her. At the other man's furious glare, Oz said, "No secrets in the band."

Ahamo had already ordered the his daughter, so he signaled to their waitress to bring it out. It was sitting in front of her when she lifted her head. Reaching for her fork, she said, "There's not a lot here about the band. It mostly takes shots at the family. And the witch, of course.

"Then again there's nothing wrong with the band," she added with a smirk before taking a bite of her breakfast.

Ahamo sighed. "Az, there's nothing wrong with you or the family. I'll have the paper print a formal apology when I get back to Central City."

"No." Azkadellia put her hand over the top of her father's coffee cup. "There was no free press under the witch. Let them have their opinions. We were never doing this to be famous or popular."

Ahamo took his daughter's hand and kissed it. "Okay."

Oz, silently eating his breakfast, noted that Az hadn't actually agreed with her father that there was nothing wrong either with her or the House of Gale.

Their waitress came back just then, all solicitous smiles. "Everything okay here?"

"Sure," Oz said, answering for them all. "Maybe another round of coffee?"

"Can do! It looks like you guys could do with fresh cups, too, so I'll just-"

The moment she connected the still face-up article to the people at her table was nearly comical. "You're Princess Azkadellia."

She was standing behind Az, but the princess was in her uniform: army green jacket over closely fitted black pantsuit and her now-distinctive short hair. Twisting to be seen clearly, she pasted on a polite smile and nodded. "I am. This is my father, Prince Consort Ahamo, and my bandmate, Oz."

The waitress suddenly grinned and pulled out her order pad. "I can't believe I served breakfast to Shield For My Eyes. Can I get your autograph? I really like your music, but my roommate loves you guys. Like really, really loves you guys!"

Azkadellia's cheeks pinked as the reached for the pad and pen in the young woman's hands. "Who should I make it out to?"

"Kaydeen and Claire. Actually, just make it out to Kaydeen. She'll just black my name out and pretend it was just for her all along," she said, laughing.

Azkadellia scribbled out a message, signing it with a flourish, then flipped the page and signed another. "Now you both have."

The waitress' face flushed with pleasure. "Thank you so much! I'll just take these coffee cups. If they weren't cold and gross before, they definitely are now!"

As the young woman, Claire, turned to go, Azkadellia said, "You probably know this already but we're performing in town at the end of the week.

"I know! It's all Kay can talk about, but rent is due this week too and… But meeting you guys totally makes up for it!"

* * *

When Oz had first landed in the OZ, he'd been astounded by it's incredible jazz scene. From what he had observed, rock n' roll had never splintered off from the genre. Subgenres of jazz had flourished instead, including the loosely defined alternative jazz that Shield For My Eyes had been practicing and playing for more than two years.

I hope you're reading this over my shoulder  
I hope I'm a mystery that takes you over  
Cause I've been bent, I've been broken  
I've been unmade  
I've been molded  
But you won't see me  
No you won't see me hiding anymore

It was the last show in the area - the last show for the month, in fact - but Az had found time to add a new song to their regular set. So far their audience had been receptive.

Darling I'm gonna puzzle you all of my days  
Until your friend Sleep becomes your great enemy  
Cause I've been bent, I've been broken  
I've been unmade  
I've been molded  
But you won't see me  
No you won't see me hiding anymore

Oz noticed that there also seemed to be a stronger female presence at their shows. Many of the young women sported variations on Azkadellia's uniform: an army green jacket here, a severe bob-cut there, tailored black trousers with equally close-during black tops or even the entire pantsuit. Many of their male fans sported the utilitarian boots he and Az wore to spare their feet and backs more strain than necessary while acting as their own roadies. He wondered if their fans would have also embraced the back braces they sometimes wore under their clothes if they knew about them.

Or you could let me go  
I'll even tell everyone I know  
That you figured me out  
Yes  
There're no more doubts  
You were never amazed  
Never amazed

He and Az had agreed to reserve the song for an encore, assuming anyone asked for one.

Every night there was at least one request for an encore if not two. They sometimes spent months without one, happy to have captured the attention of anyone not yet drunk at the bar. By the third packed show, with it's fangirls and -boys, and it's two encore requests, Az was grinning through pink stained cheeks.

"Should we send the Central City Gazette a heartfelt letter?" she'd asked Oz as he checked the tuning on his guitar before playing their new song. Her back had been to the audience and the mic pointed away from her face.

Oz's eyebrows had gone up as he strummed the opening chords. "I thought this was your heartfelt letter."

She'd been laughing when she turned back to their audience.

Now, at the last stop on their tour before they took a much needed break, they seemed to be playing to a room full of clones. Not only were there a number of Azkadellias, but a few Ozes in the various incarnations he'd had during their tour. For the first time, however, he noticed a number of their female fans with metal glinting from their foreheads. Some were clearly little tiaras, but many weren't as obvious.

I suppose you must have your way  
But darling I am here to stay  
Cause I've been bent, I've been broken  
I've been unmade  
I've been molded  
But you won't see me  
No you won't see me hiding anymore

Oz felt Az's eyes on him as he picked an intricate version of the last chord on his guitar. She turned to their audience as the last note faded into the air. "Thank you and goodnight!"

The roar that went up from the audience staggered even Oz.

Ten minutes later, the slightly less sweaty versions of themselves were mingling with their fans and signing autographs.

Oz noticed Claire, the waitress from the café near the apartment they were renting, before she reached them. He caught Az's eye, indicating with a look that someone was approaching her from behind.

"Princess Azkadellia?" She beamed when the princess turned to her. "We made it!"

"Claire, right? And this is your friend Kaydeen?"

"Yeah, this is Kay. She's too overwhelmed to speak right now."

Kay smacked her friend's arm then waved at Az. Who smiled at her kindly. "I'm so glad you could both make it. But I thought that wasn't really possible," she said, politely alluding to their financial situation.

Beaming, Claire and Kay flashed their ticket stubs at the princess. "The Prince Consort comped us tickets," Claire said.

An answering smile blossomed on Azkadellia's face. "That's wonderful. I'll have to thank him when I see him next."

"Hey…" Oz said. "Um…what's in your hair? I noticed a few of the girls in the audience wearing them."

"They're crowns, Oz," Azkadellia answered.

"Um, they don't look very crown-like to me."

"They're circlets," Claire said.

Kay said, "We started wearing them to show our support."

Azkadellia and Oz shared a look. "May I ask what you're supporting?" Az said.

"You, Princess. After that Central City Gazette article, we wanted to show our support," Kaydeen said as Claire nodded. She added, "We started calling ourselves Poor Princesses. You don't mind do you?"

A slow smile bloomed on Azkadellia's face. "I'm touched. Thank you."

Blushing furiously, both women handed Az and Oz the items they wanted to be signed ("Something less likely to accidentally get thrown out with the receipts in on the kitchen table.") then said their goodbyes. Azkadellia watched them slip into the crowd, before leaning close to Oz. "Maybe we should send the Gazette a bouquet of roses. To show our gratitude."

Then someone else was tapping her arm, and they continued on.

Fin[ite]


End file.
